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olet-lucernam · 14 days

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A Hollow Promise [26] chapter vi, part iii

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : let's get it started, måneskin

tag list: @femmealec, @mischief2sarawr

special thanks to the lovely @mischief2sarawr: when i had to rewrite pretty much all of this, their encouragement helped me get it done within a matter of days, instead of weeks. (thanks for the virtual tea, sarah <3)

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Actually- Ophelia wasn’t even her second appointment.

During daylight hours and early evening, the tight-woven alleys of Shinjuku’s Golden Gai were almost serene, lined with potted plants, faced in pale stone. By nightfall, however, the countless micro-bars that hemmed the narrow passageways threw open their doors and exploded into neon light and colour and conversation, entrances plastered with stickers, interiors crammed with patrons, walls pasted with advertisements and unique theming, spilling with the smell of beer and charcoal smoke, electric signs and sandwich boards and utility boxes jutting out like soliciting hands over the stone stoops.

Each establishment only had a tiny footprint- two storeys high and barely large enough to host more than a dozen patrons at a time- and therefore tended to be selective, some only catering to regulars and refusing tourists.

Fortunately, Astrid had been introduced at a few of the bars before- and she was due to meet someone there.

She had been waiting outside, carefully tucked out of the way of passing foot traffic- the same wool coat from Cornwall now arranged as a cape over her shoulders, draped over a black cocktail dress with one sleeve artistically falling off her shoulder, polished up with her favourite pair of blush-pink heels, filigree golden hardware glinting- when she felt a familiar presence storming up from behind, Manolo Blahniks snapping on the pavement.

A hand seized her elbow, dragging her into the bar with a hiss.

“You suck, ‘Strid.”

Astrid heard the annoyance, and general insincerity beneath it, and grinned.

“Hisashiburi, Miko-chan,” Astrid said in sugar-coated, casual Japanese. “Genki desu ka?”

“I hate you,” the voice groused.

Laughing quietly, Astrid allowed herself to be shoved into the tiny space, and towards a perilously narrow staircase, climbing to the second floor to seek out one of the small booths.

She had barely lowered herself into her seat, shrugging the coat from her shoulders, when the other person dropped heavily into the chair opposite her, unceremonious and pointed.

Socialite heiress, fashion icon, and sole grandchild of the chairman of Fujikawa Industries, Rumiko was confident, intimidating, and the consummate, catty epitome of the rich bitch archetype; she was Regina George’s grasp on social capital, thrown into a blender with Heather Duke’s utter ruthlessness, topped up with Cher Horowitz’s fashion sense. Overdressed in a silk Givenchy slip dress, complete with Cartier earrings and a matching watch, her satin-gloss hair tumbled to her waist and wisped above her downturn eyebrows, jaw locked in a scathing disapproval that would make a lesser being curdle into themselves.

“What are you even wearing? You could have at least worn that Dior piece I got you.”

Astrid smirked at the familiar barb, electing not to point out that her dress was Valentino, and the shoes were Ralph and Russo.

“Good to see you too. Am I buying the cocktails?”

“Fuzakenna yo, kora! You disappeared for two years, yes, you’re buying the cocktails-”

“It was eighteen months, I gave you the heads up, and in my defence, I was abducted for fourteen of them,” Astrid rattled off, already slipping out of her seat and pulling out her wallet, stuffed with freshly obtained yen. “I’ll be back.”

Rumiko jolted. “What?! You were abdu-”

“Later. Long story. Drinks first.”

“You’re a dead woman, North, I swear-”

Astrid hid her grin.

Predictably, Rumiko had loosened up enough to listen to her by the time she reached the bottom of her first drink. If they had talked over coffee, or brunch, Astrid wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgeways. Rumiko was incorrigible when her temper was piqued, and Astrid had expected her disappearance to be an issue.

The two of them had met by chance, years ago. Rumiko’s paternal grandfather was Kenjiro Fujikawa, the CEO of Fujikawa Industries, a tech company with a niche in sophisticated surgical robotics. While she was merely expected to marry whichever worthy successor Kenjiro selected for her, Rumiko was still regularly pulled to attend medical conferences, and various industry-based galas and dinner.

It was at one such event that Astrid- as Astrid North, not as Alethia- had met her.

The two had become friends, in the kind of half-accidental way that might have happened if they had attended the same school. But they had become close enough that Astrid had expected Rumiko to be a little sour, when she returned, even with the warning that she would be disappearing for a while. Rumiko hated being left in the dark, and Astrid had told her nothing.

She hadn’t expected the sourness to be masking masses of pure, trembling relief.

So as Rumiko guzzled down her second sidecar, Astrid gave her the truth.

It was far from everything, but it was enough- and more than Astrid volunteered to most- either those who knew Astrid, or those who knew Alethia.

When she was finished, Rumiko set her half-empty coupé glass on the table, not quite slamming it down, faintly disconcerted.

“Okay. If it wasn’t for New York, I’d be getting out the straitjacket.”

“If it wasn’t for New York, I wouldn’t be telling you this,” Astrid rejoined, swallowing a mouthful of her espresso martini. She felt oddly drained, brimming with endorphins, like the aftermath of a workout.

“That’s fair,” Rumiko said dryly. “You sound insane. It’s literally like the plot of Men In Black- wait. ‘Strid. Could you be an alien?”

“Maybe.” Astrid admitted blandly, shrugging one shoulder. “I haven’t eliminated the possibility.”

Rumiko blew out a breath, head dropping forwards briefly. “Okay. We need beer. And fried chicken.”

“Mm, good call.”

Once their table was packed with piping-hot plates of fried izakaya dishes, their glasses refilled- Rumiko switching over to a frothing plastic pitcher of beer and Astrid taking up sake- Rumiko was significantly calmer, hardening over with the kind of ruthlessly practical, efficient composure that would have made her an excellent successor to FI, if her grandfather had been an ounce or so less of a misogynist.

“Okay, so- let’s figure out where you stand.” Rumiko said efficiently, picked up a piece of karaage with her chopsticks, grease and sesame seeds glistening on the batter. “I mean, it all depends on what you want, but either way-” she pointed her loaded chopsticks at Astrid, before popping the fried chicken into her mouth, “this agency.”

“This agency,” Astrid agreed with a dip of her head, sipping on her sake.

“You’re off their radar right now, but it sounds like they have the sheer resources and numbers to just keep looking, so, that’s likely temporary.” Rumiko tapped her nails against her glass, leaning forwards against her elbows. “Okay. Do you have any backchannels you can use? Anyone who seemed sympathetic, or might hear you out if you got in contact? You might be able to cut a deal, if you can figure out some leverage. It’s either that, or you’ll need a deterrent. Some way to make the cost too high, or the gains too low, to keep coming after you. Again, you’ll need leverage for that. Where are you staying right now? And how long can you lay low? If we can buy you some time-”

Astrid’s expression had cleared, focused as a lens, and Rumiko paused.

“What?” She prompted.

One shoulder lifting, Astrid bought her cup to her mouth.

“You really need to start that PR crisis firm, Ru.”

Startled, Rumiko reared upright from her casual slouch. “The fuck, ‘Strid?”

“Well, I have just told you that I am wanted by a secretive multinational agency,” she pointed out, dropping her voice low enough to blend within the camouflaging ambient chatter of the tiny bar, “who abducted me and has been covering up the existence of magic and monsters since the forties- and you acclimated within fifteen minutes, then launched straight into working out how to handle it. Remind me again why you’re not making bank from this? Aside from your grandfather being a jackass, I mean.”

“Oh my god, we’re so not doing this right now,” Rumiko muttered into her glass, followed by an unladylike gulp of beer.

One corner of Astrid’s mouth curled.

There was a subtle, telling flatness in Rumiko’s scowl, as the words and their sentiments sank in- like water soaking into soft earth, swiftly and undramatically, absorbed and drawing itself down.

Setting her cup aside, Astrid let Rumiko ignore it, for now. “Are those my only options? Bargain, deter, appease?”

“What, you have another plan?”

The question wasn’t quite rhetorical, but it was tinted with a rational scepticism.

If Astrid had been anyone else- anything other than truth incarnate, or someone who had gone up against SHIELD for years with nothing but her wits and her ability to arm her, fallen in love with a demigod, and promised him everything- she might have agreed.

“If the world doesn’t work for you,” she said, taking up her chopsticks and plucking a cube of fried tofu from one of the plates, swiping in through the dipping sauce, “then change the world. Right?”

Rumiko froze, looking from under her fringe to glare at her incredulously.

“You’re not fucking serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that’s insane.”

“Is it? The world already broke in New York. I would just be rearranging the pieces.”

“I take it back,” Rumiko said bluntly, dropping her chopsticks and topping off her beer glass. “I’m getting the damn straitjacket.”

“Good luck with that,” Astrid answered breezily. “I’ll give you a clean number, later, so don’t worry about me disappearing again. Not completely, anyway.”

“You’re insane,” Rumiko reiterated.

“But you think I can do it,” she stated neutrally, meeting Rumiko’s eyes, the words tasting golden and hot in her chest, metal and bright.

Rumiko stared back at her for a long, fierce moment.

“You’re serious.”

Astrid picked up and popped one of the mayo prawns into her mouth. “Yes.”

Rumiko hissed out an exasperated breath, worry creeping into the crimp of her perfect eyebrows.

“’Strid.” She said grimly. “Seriously. Going up against a multinational spy agency. Is this really worth it?”

“Yes.”

The heat in the word burned like a brand.

Rumiko looked back at her, despairing and incredulous and impressed.

“You’re insane,” she said resignedly.

Astrid laughed. “If you set up the scaffolding for that PR firm within two years, I’ll give you a gift.”

“I am not starting a-”

Rumiko paused.

“A gift?” She echoed, intrigued and sceptical. “What kind of gift?”

“That would be for you to find out. You know I give the best gifts, Ru,” Astrid pointed out. “Remember when I gave you the wing mirror from your ex’s car?”

Rumiko’s mouth tilted into a nostalgic smile.

“That was a really nice present,” she conceded fondly, before grimacing, reaching for the pitcher to top up her beer glass. “But tonight, all I want is alcohol.”

Astrid laughed, and leaned in to clunk her cup again Rumiko’s glass.

“Ah, fine. I suppose I owe you that much,” she agreed easily. “But in that case- shots?”

Rumiko’s eyes glinted.

“Karaoke?”

An hour later, as they stumbled out of the bar, arms linked and heading out to get into trouble somewhere in Kabukicho, Astrid dropped her notebook into her pocket with its second entry.

Ink pens.

Ophelia would be deeply insulted if she ever found out that she wasn’t even Astrid’s third port of call.

Astrid was tempted to tell her. It would be good to regulate her ego.

The taste of alcohol was still sour in her mouth, swilled with water, the tang masked by the fresh espresso and gelato that was gently melting in a glass bowl in front of her.

The afternoon air in Rome was cool, despite clear sun-soaked skies and the heat of the crowded streets. Clouds of chatter and the clink of plates and glasses reflected against the warm, pale-yellow brick, the buildings carved with classical ornamentation, spilling with artfully cultivated vines, stained with graffiti. The sett-block pavement was hemmed with café boards, parked motorcycles, and folding wooden-slat bistro tables; cream parasols and restaurant awnings created pockets of deeper shade, between arched shopfronts.

Astrid spooned up the last of her affogato with a swirl of silverware, lips sealing over the spoon.

Seated at the café bar, she was twisted side-on against the counter, watching the passing foot traffic and outside tables through the windows. A cross-breeze drifted over her every so often, cutting in through the entryway and seeping through her clothes, refreshing her overheated skin.

“Propiro l’affogato, sì?” The ageing server behind the counter prompted, briskly pleasant as he calculated her bill. “The, ah- qual è il nom inglese-”

Astrid swallowed a melted mouthful of vanilla, cream, and espresso.

“It’s affogato in English as well,” she told him, startling the waiter. “Il mio Italiano è pessimo?”

“No, no, per niente! Il tuo accento è- your accent, it’s very good! Molto bene. Ma- in Rome,” the server bought a wrinkled hand to cup his ear indicatively, “you hear it, sì? I can tell you’re English, a little.”

Astrid nodded, setting her spoon down and gently pushing the empty glass bowl away from her.

“Ah, vedo- è il tuo orecchio, non la mia bocca, sì?”

“Sì, esattamente! Ho sentito che- I can hear, that you learn it when you are grown,” he said with a grin, “not when little.”

“Ah, vedo- ciò ha senso. I did a summer at Sapenzia,” she explained gamely. “I had a friend who used to say the same thing. That my cadence gave me away.”

“Aha, bene, bene! You’re here to visit your friend?”

“Sì, ma- as a surprise,” Astrid admitted, unsnapping her wallet from where it rested at her elbow, before glancing towards the windows, and the bistro tables arranged within their sight. “Ah- do you see the two women seated under the vines?”

The waiter paused, looking up and leaning to see. “Sì- la bruna e la rossa?”

“Sì. La bruna? Quello è il mio amico.”

His dark eyes widened demonstrably. “Veramente?”

Astrid grinned at him, resting her chin on the hell of her palm. “She doesn’t know that I’m here.” Slipping a credit card loose from her purse with her free hand, she rapped it against the bar top. “Do you think I could pay their cheque, signore? Come una sorpresa?”

His mouth formed a silent exhale of understanding, tapping the side of his aquiline nose before returning to the register. “Naturalmente, signorina- ah, you want me to tell her it was you? Or will you tell her later?”

“Mm.” Astrid watched the server pull up the order details of the table. “Do you have a serviette, signore?”

Less than five minutes later, Astrid left the café, stepping out into the sunlight just in time to see the same server pausing at one of the al fresco tables.

As Astrid had observed on her way into the bistro, two women were seated underneath the arch of a vine clinging to the outer wall, with several half-finished plates on the table between them.

The first- a redhead, the coppery tresses cropped into a flattering pixie-cut, broad-shouldered in an olive jacket and white capris jeans- had her back to Astrid, the slight curve of her face in profile just barely visible. The second woman was facing towards her, torso leaned askew and head tipped up, mildly annoyed askance painted across her face like a fresco as she spoke to the server.

Arms folded forward onto the table, the fall of her black hair almost bleeding into her tank top, Vittoria Montesi hadn’t changed much from when Astrid had last seen her. She was still model-lean, as though she subsisted solely on coffee and cigarettes- which was probably accurate, if her on-call diet hadn’t changed since residency- with a full, sceptical mouth, poised to argue and drive and diagnose.

Astrid waited just long enough to see the server hand her the napkin, before melting into the crowd with a grin and a lilt in her weaving steps, escaping towards the tourist trap of the Fontana di Trevi.

A new addition was jotted into her notebook with a borrowed pen.

Coffee grounds.

Several hours later, Astrid departed from the Gallery.

Arriving back at the Madripoor penthouse, she stripped out of her clothes, changing into a comfortable camisole, jersey shorts, and thigh-high socks, and retrieved her notebook from the breakfast bar.

New shoes, Astrid wrote onto her list- before flipping the cover shut, tossing the pen down, and collapsing into the sofa with a soft groan.

Four.

It was a start.

Lying in the demi-dark, cheek pressed into the arm of the couch, impatience hummed under her skin like an electric current, settling in the roots of her teeth. Her heart drummed hard and impatient against the adipose-softened wall of her breastbone, eyes open.

The silver light of the city rinsed through the windows, across the apartment, pooling across the floor like the shallow waterline of the incoming tide. Her synapses were slowing, sloping into a long-overdue caffeine crash- but four felt like not enough, not enough, not enough.

She had done more on less sleep.

Four would need to be hundreds. Thousands. Tens, hundreds of thousands.

Four was not enough.

It had only been twenty-four hours, but it had been almost natural, for her to slip into the mindset that she had lived in for years: keep moving, keep working, don’t stop, don’t hesitate, be smart, be quick, be relentless, use your greed, use your selfishness, next step, next step, next step-

Everything else became easy to ignore. The storm within her, whatever doubt and anger and loneliness and turmoil broiled inside, pressing behind her eyes like to urge to sob, became simple fuel, like glucose, until she was done.

None of it would matter, once she got what she wanted- and if it did matter, she would deal with it then, when it was safe.

It was easy, because Astrid was her father’s daughter. He had taught her how to use her worst traits as a whetstone, to make herself scalpel-sharp.

Her flesh was cooling, the cushions were warm, and her limbs grew heavy and slack with every passing moment.

And she suddenly remembered Loki’s parting words to her, as she had finished the dregs of their rose tea at the Cornish tea parlour.

I should get up, darling, he murmured reluctantly. I must get to work. But make sure you take your rest- I want to see you later.

Astrid sighed into a smile, defeated.

Sly bastard, she thought fondly.

She shouldn’t keep him waiting.

Lifting her head just long enough to set an alarm on her phone, Astrid dropped the device on the coffee table and sank back into the sofa, limbs sliding across the upholstery in a drag of wool and cotton and bare skin, as she let sleep claim her- just for a little while.

54 weeks and 6 days out

“I’ve walked the deserts for miles Swam the waters for a tide Searching places to find A piece of something to call, mine A piece of something to call, mine- Coming closer to you-”

You will be careful, won’t you, Astra?

“Hm?” Astrid paused her singing, fingers still strumming at her keyboard, the click of the keys weaving her response into the comment box like a shuttle in a loom. “With what?”

She clicked post, watching the response box disappear.

The text popped up within the thread, slotting into place in the conversation, sealed into format. Astrid clicked away, skimming the rest of the forum.

This, Loki replied, with the mental equivalent of an expansive gesture. Whipping up a group over which you do not have full control.

“Mm, you’re one to talk, alderliefest,” Astrid commented, eyes unmoving from the screen of her laptop, reaching for the plate at her side, “with what you’ve been doing through- Brunn, was it?”

Brunnhilde, Loki confirmed- but immediately becoming distracted by what Astrid had bitten into.

Cut thick, the slab of pain pavé was spread with unsalted butter and honeycomb- treacly and faintly earthy with clouds of unprocessed pollen

It tasted of late summer and wildflower meadows, and dirt on her skin, a shock of calories into her system.

Over the weeks, Astrid had been narrowing down Loki’s preferences. Within his sweet tooth, it seemed that he had a particular weakness for anything that featured honey, or chocolate; honey reminded him of Asgard, of better memories and better days, of the royal city at golden hour and light-hearted laughter, of his brother’s broad grin and of a flash of pale-bright hair that always sent Astrid’s stomach swooping with something unidentifiable whenever it flickered into her mind, through his.

Chocolate seemed to provoke thoughts of Midgard. It made him think of city cafés, of her bed in the penthouse, of cold mornings as she went through her morning routine, of the warmth of the crook of her neck and the view of snow-capped mountains through broad windows.

Astrid had gained a new appreciation of chocolate.

And touché, Loki conceded, his thoughts still humming with pleasure at the taste of the honeycomb.

She tongued the soft film of beeswax from her teeth, quietly content for a precious, ephemeral moment.

It felt better, at least. The ache of their separation- and the omnipresent lack and malcontent that she could live with, but never quite ignore- was less when he was there, and she was reminded that she was doing something, moving closer.

Coming closer to you, Astrid hummed the sweetly-lilting bar.

A warm breeze swept over her, as she glanced up over the top of her screen.

They were in Chile today- on a rooftop amongst the soaring metropolitan clutter of Santiago. Astrid had positioned herself to gaze out at the distant summer-red of the Andes, looming above the basin of the city, hazy through the sun-bright smog; the building she was perched atop was within view of one of the city’s many green spaces, the lush foliage a shock of emerald against the concrete, a faint rush of traffic carried up on the thermal lift.

She changed where she worked every day, cycling through a roulette wheel of hemispheres, climates, continents, countries, the only prerequisites being a stable internet connection and a good view. But she had noticed that Loki liked mountains, and cool open air, and she had begun peppering them in as often as possible.

I, however, am far more removed from my work, Loki pressed, edged with caution. And circumstances leave me beneath suspicion. You are far closer to the fire, songbird.

“Mm.” Astrid traced her collarbone absently. “True.”

Her gaze dropped to the screen, sucking a smear of honey from her opposite thumb.

“But these ones are less the fire, more the firestarters.” She added lightly.

The forum was thick with activity.

The hacktivist group known as the Rising Tide was a hornet’s nest- a collective that had sprung up in the wake of Culver, devoted to dragging SHIELD from the shadows into the cold light of day- and one that Astrid had repeatedly agitated, pointed in the right direction, and watched swarm SHIELD’s most recent project.

With New York, they had been galvanised, by a publicly validated raison d’être.

The corner of her mouth folded up ruefully.

Their organisation was an ad hoc nightmare, and they were incapable of communicating with the general public without coming off as uncredible, melodramatic, conspiracy theory whackjobs - but the Rising Tide were her first true allies, arguably, and incredibly skilled at what they did.

They had given her the lead in New Mexico. Astrid would always owe them a debt, for that.

“Anyway,” Astrid said, straightening, arms extending above her head, feeling her shoulders and spine click and realign, “arguably- if anything is the fire, it’s me. It’s only a matter of time before they try to extinguish me. Before the inevitable, I should burn as bright and hot as I can- don’t you think?”

She felt Loki sigh, fondly exasperated.

As long as you don’t burn out completely.

“Completely?” She noted the specificity.

He smirked, and nipped at her shoulder. A little destruction is good for the soul. Cathartic. You deserve a little of that.

Astrid laughed softly, and imagined her own fingers running through his hair.

From his shiver, it seemed that practice was slowly beginning to pay off.

“Well, I have heard that volcanic soil is amongst the richest and most fertile in the world.”

Ah. You do have a rather volcanic temper, beloved.

“You think so? Interesting. I would call yours glacial, prince.”

She felt his eyebrows steeple in askance, faintly sardonic.

Passive and slow to act?

“Quiet. Patient. Underestimated,” she listed, leaning back slightly, feeling the illusion of him catch her weight. “Ruthless, and relentless. And with the power to reshape the world while no one is paying attention.”

Loki breathed out a laugh, and planted the sensation of a kiss behind her ear, eliciting a pleasantly startled noise from her.

Such shameless flattery, he murmured against her nape, mood warmed beneath the teasing. What am I to do, in the face of such an assault?

Astrid sighed, sinking into him- and willed herself not to think.

“Surrender,” she suggested breathily. “And believe me.”

The phantom of his arm curled around her waist, mouth nestling at the shell of her ear, folding himself around her.

His mood was tepid, opaque.

The anxiety she felt was a pit, somewhere behind the wall of her abdomen.

She refused to dwell on it, and risk drawing the keen edge of Loki’s attention onto it.

Her laptop gave a chirp of distress, and she looked up. The internet connection had dropped again.

Grateful for the distraction, Astrid sang the signal back into strength.

“I’m moving, I’m coming Can you hear what I hear? It’s calling you, my dear Out of reach-”

The bars rocketed up back up, Wi-Fi boosted from a café several dozen feet below.

Astrid exhaled a smile, propping her chin on her palm. “Take me to my bea-each…”

Old songs- ones that she had listened to and re-loved thousands of times over- were best for weaving magic as she multitasked.

Combing her hair back behind her ear, Astrid flipped through her tabs, refreshing each one, keeping up the melody under breath.

“I can hear it, calling you I’m coming, not drowning Swimming closer to you-”

One of her dummy social media accounts reloaded.

Astrid scrolled through her feed at a reflexive skim, idly liking a few posts to keep up her account activity. She was keeping track, but not sincerely expecting to see a moving of the needle, just yet.

It was something that the Rising Tide, for all their skill and drive and passion, hadn’t quite recognised yet: they could afford to lay out the trail, prompt the question, and wait.

Slow is fast, Astrid reminded herself.

Ah. Stark is trending, Loki observed idly.

“Hm?”

Astrid paused, glancing at the trending topics sidebar.

“Ah. Hardly surprising, beloved.” She lifted her shoulder. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And the world’s first modern superhero.”

Loki rearranged himself nonchalantly, like draping satin.

Is your heart still set on him, as an ally?

Astrid hummed through a sigh, leaning back slightly more, lounging against him and tipping her head to the skies, propped on the strong ledge his shoulder.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that not even trying to work with him would be like shooting ourselves in the foot, with our last bullet, while in the middle of a firefight, and then amputating the limb with an unsterilised knife and no anaesthesia.”

Graphic, Loki remarked dryly. But I take your point, my heart.

“Can I take that your approval?”

Why should I withhold it? Stark appears to be a wise choice. And the best option, amongst the Avengers.

“Damningly faint praise, prinsinn minn. We’re not exactly spoilt for choice.”

He snickered. Astrid couldn’t ignore how it sublimated at the edges into wistfulness, and a resignation that had fermented from frustration and outrage and hurt, like wine in a cask.

They both knew who Loki was thinking of- the one who should have been the better option.

It was a wound and a rift that Astrid hesitated to touch, for now.

“Still,” Astrid redirected, straightening on the palm of her hands, “I value your opinion. I want you to tell me if you think it’s a bad idea.”

I don’t, truly. An arm slipped around her waist, its weight comfortable and comforting. Astrid had to bat away the reflexive desire to feel the lean muscles flex against her abdomen, as Loki dragged her flush back against him, pinning her to the length of him. Stark listened to you, is aware of the threat, and offered me a drink, he teased. You can keep him if you wish, songbird.

“I have to obtain him, first,” Astrid riposted. “Or have him decide to obtain me.”

Just talk to him, sweet thing. How could he possibly resist?

She grinned broadly, shaking her head, the sickness in her abating. “Now who’s flattering?”

Refocusing on the trending bar, her head cocked as she caught up, wondering whether it was a personal scandal, a Stark Industries development, or a cheap editorial that had put the name in people’s mouths today.

Trending Topics #christmaseveeve #tonystark #mandarinbombings #happyfestivus

Mandarin, Loki noted, reading through her eyes. As in standard Chinese, the fruit, or the bureaucrat?

“None of the above- I think.” Astrid said distractedly, the pixels beginning to split in her vision. “It’s the supposed head of a terrorist organisation. They’ve claimed responsibility for a series of bombings, over the past few months.”

Supposed head? Loki echoed shrewdly.

She twitched her shoulder upwards wearily. “Someone is appropriating a name that doesn’t belong to them. I saw one of the videos, after the most recent incident. I know enough about the Ten Rings to know that this is someone dressing up in their colours. Especially with that moniker they-”

She halted.

Loki went still with concern.

Astra?

Gaze blank, her tongue was numb as she answered.

“The Ten Rings.”

What about it?

“Three years ago. Afghanistan. Do you remember what I told you? The incident created Iron Man.”

Loki froze.

And what better way to bait Stark, he said, quiet and sharp, than to use the name of an organisation that almost killed him?

Astrid’s hand darted out, clicking on the tag, hoping that it was just a coincidence of the algorithm-

BREAKING: Tony Stark’s mansion bombed in suspected terror attack – Iron Man missing

“Fuck!”

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outofthiisworld · 3 months

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OPHELIA— In Space! .𖥔 ݁ ˖

💜.𖥔 ݁ ˖ While Ophelia has been in space before, she hasn’t ever been [IN] the vacuum of space before (unless you count that one time her entire body was destroyed alongside a planet and her ectoplasmic remnants were floating in space before getting re-collected by atlas [INHALES] but that’s another post for another time)— so she has no idea how’d she survive in space. <- it was one of the very few tests that were not conducted due to the very real & very possible risk of losing the ectoplasmic core if ever released into outer space.

Doc’s knee-jerk theory is that she’d die & resurrect over and over as the vacuum of space would suffocate her, so technically in a round-about way: yes, she could exist in space without support but it would be an excruciating & never-ending process.

IN REALITY!!! Her ectoplasm would flourish in outer space— essentially “taking the wheel” on transforming the host’s body to be better suited for their home space.

Flesh & skin would become luminescent, much more alive, twinkling if not blinding. She’d teeter in between corporeal and incorporeal as hair would become heavy wisps of ectoplasmic clouds. Her entire ribcage would CRACK open while the scarred vent down her chest split apart to reveal the nebulous core— as it fed off cosmic rays, stardust and surrounding plasma. In return, it’d freely expel the same energy back into the cosmos under a constant cycle of absorption and emission (or, life and death).

Despite what it may look like— this temporary transformation isn’t painful, but relieving. <- unlike when she’s not among the cosmos and grounded.

#💜… headcanons #⭐️… meta #//she’s giving ethereally enchanting deep space horror✨#//one day i’ll draw up her different forms but until then. have purple prose.

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

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Tagged by @rose-of-black-blood

Rules: pick a song for each letter of your URL and then tag that many people!

Call Out My Name by The Weeknd

Ophelia by The Lumineers

When The Night is Over by Lord Huron

Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov

O (literally cannot think of another one for the life of me)

Your Woman by White Town

Dark Red by Steve Lacy

I Lied by Lord Huron

Sure Thing by Miguel

Amsterdam by Coldplay

Second Chances by Gregory Alan Isakov

The Wisp Sings by Winter Aid

Electric Feel by MGMT

Rock and a Hard Place by Bailey Zimmerman

yeah my Playlist is all over the place, anyway! No pressure tags:

@margowritesthings @photo1030 @lonesome-ranger @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @dudsparrow @mrsarthurmorgan7 @hoematthews @bluesu9ar (sorry if u were already tagged, I didn't check the previous ones xxx)

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bunbeeplays · 2 months

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The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 23 - Team and Family Building

Luckily, Hector and the kids need little convincing and arrive at The Roll With It Bowling Alley around the same time as the Laurents' employees. Let's put on those goofy shoes and get rolling!

I go to a cool new place, I make my Sims pose for pictures. It's what I do.

I love the BFFs, but I made these guys, so they're all like my babies.

Drew is really good at the guitar, but really bad at bowling. Don't worry, The Laurents were too busy chatting to notice! Too bad their friends notice.

Xander: HA!

Drew: Shut up!

It's Ophelia's turn!

Xander: Too bad Hil couldn't convince Hector to hire Lemon as the singer and axe Tiff.

Moses: Don't remind me, Drew and I are the ones who will have to perform with her.

At least they didn't see Ophelia totally flop. She wonders what they're talking about.

Hector's a pro!

Greta: Way to go, Dad! You're the best! Tell those pins who's boss!

Drew: You trying to get a raise in your allowance?

Greta: No! I'm trying to get my curfew extended.

Drew: Classic.

Xander: Come on, what's that third trait of yours? We've got Ambitious and Music-Lover. Is it one of the lame ones like Lactose Intolerant? I'd be embarrassed to tell people too if a third of my personality was pooping myself if I eat too much pizza!

Ophelia: Not telling!

Xander: I know it's not Evil 'cause you've never cackled maniacally. Or Hates Children 'cause my nephew is existing over there and you're not having a meltdown over it.

Moses: She doesn't want to tell us, ease up.

Xander: Fine, keep your secrets, Lemon Tart.

I didn't know that if a kid is bowling, they put bumpers up on the bowling lane. Fun feature!

Jace still manages to get a gutter ball somehow.

Hilary: It's okay, honey. Practice makes perfect!

My man Jace looks like he really wants to use some forbidden words right now.

Obligatory post about Ophelia getting a strike because she's the Main Character.

Xander and Greta have their turns at the same time so of course he has to be a good uncle and show her how it's done.

Xander: Just like that and... Strike, baby! You see that, G?

Greta: Yeah yeah, no one likes a bragger, Uncle Xan.

Ophelia: Your family's pretty close, huh?

Xander: Sure. We're stuck together, we might as well like each other. Probably helps that most people don't get paid to hang out with their brother-in-law.

Hector: O-ho, you're lucky you're a good bartender, Alexander.

Ophelia: You go to Copperdale High, huh? It's so weird, every Sim I've ever talked to also went to Copperdale High.

Greta: Yeah, weird, right? Small world.

Xander: Sorry for bugging you about your third trait earlier. You seem cool. I'm sure you have your reasons for keeping it to yourself. If Hilary trusts you, you gotta be a pretty good person.

Ophelia: ...You know what, you got me. It's lactose intolerant.

Xander: I knew it!

Oh Hector. You poor oaf.

Greta: OMW Dad totally beefed it.

Moses: Is it bad to laugh at the man that gives me my livelihood?

Greta: He's the man that gave me life and I'm still laughing.

Hilary: It's okay, darling, we're just playing for fun.

Hector: Winning IS fun.

Everyone's hunger bars are looking a little yellow, so The Laurents treat everyone to a hummus and pita platter.

The way Hector and Hilary talk about their kids and how proud they are of how they're growing up, it makes Ophelia... uncomfortable. Parents can be like this?

Xander takes the opportunity to bond with his niece and nephew.

Jace: Wisp is the best Voidcritter! It can phase in and out of dimensions!

Xander: You're dreaming, kid! Pleuro's the best! It shoots water jets!

Greta: You guys are dorks... But Jace is right, Wisp is the best.

Ophelia steps outside for some fresh air. Later on, Drew joins her.

Drew: Doing okay? Nobody could find you.

Ophelia: Yeah, sorry. I'm not used to being around families that like each other. It's weird.

Drew: Tell me about it. My older brother still calls me a boogerhead.

Drew: Look, I don't know your deal. It's probably worse than being called a boogerhead. Either way, you're an honorary part of the Let Them Eat Cake family now. Moses and I are your new dads.

Ophelia: Aren't there gender neutral parent names?

Drew: Yeah, but Dad feels right.

Ophelia comes back in to play some arcade games with Xander and the kids. It's boys vs. girls!

Xander: Eat our intergalactic dust!

Jace: Go, Uncle Xander!

Ophelia: Aw, come on! This game's rigged!

Greta: Maybe you just suck.

Ophelia: I should introduce you to my friend Summer.

Greta: Ah! We're in the lead!

Xander: We can still beat them, J!

Ophelia: Oh no you don't!

Despite their rough start, Greta and Ophelia blast the boys to bits.

Xander: What?! Maybe this game IS rigged!

Greta: Hell yeah!

Ophelia: Double hell yeah!

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #The Sims 4 Legacy #The Lemon Legacy #TS4 #The Sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 #generation 1 #ophelia #xander #hilary #hector #greta #jace #drew #moses

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marvels-writings · 2 years

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Heartbeat | Part 2: First Preview

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

Requested by @xxxtwilightaxelxxx :

Summary: Her heart was yours, but you’d never held it in your hands before. You never wanted to, but you had to save her, no matter what.

Word Count: 568 (it's just a prep :)

A/N: I am very well aware of how long it's been since I've posted any new writing, but I'm trying, so bear with me and help me bring this blog back to life

"I know, I know you're scared that you didn't do enough, but you did…" Wanda continued rambling, her hands repeatedly running through her hair, breaking through any knots along the way. Her voice started to rise, her eyes darting around the room and looking at you almost desperately. Your silence was corrosive to her.

You bit the inside of your cheek, never speaking when she expected a response from you, avoiding her gaze. Wanda's hand met the side of your cheek, bringing you back to look at her. You slid away from her touch, almost flinching at it.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for me?” Wanda asked you, her voice soft and pleading. Her hand traced over the back of yours, fingers gingerly dancing over the back of your knuckles before encompassing your hand in hers. Her nails scraped against your skin as you took in a sharp breath.

You saw her wince at the action, biting the inside of your cheek instead. Your focus shifted to her eyes, to how intently she was observing you, you bit down harder. Blood began to fill your mouth, your head tilted to the side, and the bones in your neck cracked sharply. She winced at the sound, noticing your other hand clutch the side of the bed with a death grip. Your knuckles turning white.

"Y/n, please," She begged, tilting her head to catch your gaze while your eyes locked onto the scar across her chest, her fingers on your hand grounding you to her voice. "Talk to me."

"Let me in."

Your eyes snapped up to hers, your emotions exploding at your throat, close to clawing their way out in the form of words, shouts, and screams. You clenched your jaw tightly, copper taste flooding your mouth, your eyes locked onto hers. You wanted to see distrust, anger, anything but the way she was looking at you now.

You took in a deep breath, leaning your head back, and relaxing your neck before looking back at her. Eyebrow raised, you looked to her for an explanation. Her fingers enclosed into a soft fist before relaxing again, small red wisps floating at the tips of her fingers.

Oh.

She wants to be in your head.

Your jaw clenched, muscles tensing, your breathing becoming labored and shallow. You almost shot up from your seat, her hand held loosely in your grip, fingers running gently over your knuckles. Looping, tracing, circling patterns over your skin, grounding you to her.

"What if," you cleared your throat, "you don't like what you see?"

"It doesn't matter," She smiled, fingers tapping your knuckles. "I want to see you."

A nervous smile lined her lips, a faint grimace on yours, your teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Your shoulders tensed up further, a dull ache at the base of your neck as your head hunched forwards uncomfortably. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, your eyes looking everywhere but her. Her fingers tap a constant rhythm on your knuckles.

One

Two

Three

One, two, three, four.

Your head fell against her shoulder, your surrender heavy on her. Her surprise fades, her hands coming up to the edges of your shoulders, fingers tracing along your spine. A gentle smile on her face as your weight rested against her. Her hand slid up to your head, her smile never faltering as magic entered your thoughts.

A/N: Praying this makes sense, it'll make more sense later. I'll prolly be releasing more snippets, I'm thinking maybe 1-2 more lil previews before the final part.

How're we feeling about it?

Tag List:

@capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught , @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero , @a-stressedstudent , @aaron-despair , @rooskaya-yelena , @dynnealberto , @thewitchandtheassassin , @wannabe-fic-reader , @izalesbean, @higherfurther-romanova , @natalia-quinzel , @blackxwidowsxwife , @studies-styles , @procrastinatingsapphictrash , @mxxnmocha , @ladyeliot , @wandavixen , @blurryylines , @thewidowsghost , @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo , @softblackbird , @cristin-rjd , @madamevirgo , @wlwlovesreading , @myperfectlovepoem , @lee-a-toiling-writer , @loveroflizzie , @olsensnpm , @teenwonderz-blog , @likefirenrain , @nyx-aira , @marvelwomen-simp , @ymzki-haruki , @imtheflash , @lostandsearching , @peggycarter-steverogers , @razorscooteer, @saturnsharpe , @unexpected-character , @007giuliastonem , @marvels-bitch-boy , @simplysimping999 , @wandanatvoid , @marvels-bitch-boy , @unexpected-character let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

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ryker-writes · 11 months

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Hi! I love you writing, especially you're twst siblings relationship headcannons/writings. I was wondering if you could what Jaxon would think of my oc, Ophelia Wisps (my yuusona).

Ophelia is 5'4'' with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair with lilac bangs. They're hair is greying and their body is heavily scarred from not having the same natural resistances to magic everyone else (plus from overblots). However they hide the scars and the gray hair with a glamour enchantment in their earrings (the lilac in their hair is fake). Because they have no magic, they have resorted to using magic items and tools that they have either created or 'kindly asked" crowley to get them; they're like an artificer. Ophelia is very cold and pessimistic to those they don't know them, often keeping to themselves. However to those that they do know, they show a very energetic, creative, and chaotic personality. They always have something in there hands as a fidget, usually some sort of needlework or are writing/sketching in a journal that they keep on them that is filled with new item designs/idea's. Their family owned a flower shop they grew up working in, so they often communicate via flowers. Ophelia is often tired and have started smoking because of their role as prefect. However they keep this habit a secret and keep it to only one cigerrate a month, usually sitting on ramshackles roof late into the night to make sure no one sees.

Sorry if this is to much detail, and if its please feel free to ignore it.

Thank you! And no worries, more detail is always better so I can get a better idea of how they would interact

Jaxon and your OC

"Ophelia is alright. They're cool to be around, and we don't talk that much. But I don't mind them."

They get along decently well.

Jaxon is pretty tall, and is almost an entire foot taller than Ophelia. So he kinda towers over them a little bit. He's a very observant guy, so if the earrings don't work or the scar's aren't covered very well, he's going to notice. Still, he wouldn't say anything about them even if he noticed. He's been in his fair share of fights and isn't going to judge someone for their scars. He has a couple too.

He thinks it's cool thatthey can even use magical tools. Knowing Crowley, he doesn't really want to lend out his things to anyone. If they ever need help getting something from Crowley, they just have to ask Jaxon. He knows where Crowley keeps his things and he's been able to take things from him before.

Ophelia's attitude to those they don't know is a lot like Jaxon's attitude normally. Considering he doesn't talk much to people or open up himself, they probably don't know him well and won't show their energetic and chaotic side to him. To be honest, that's probably for the better. More energetic people are harder for him to deal with, and he generally doesn't pay much attention to the chaotic nature of people.

Jaxon doesn't mind it much when they're just fidgeting, writing, or sketching something. It's something that they can do near him without bothering him. To be honest, he's not that interested in seeing the new designs, but he'll quietly listen if they tell him about him. Just don't expect him to respond.

He wanders a bit at night, so there's a chance he might see them smoking. He's not going to say anything about it though. Jaxon certainly isn't going to tell anyone about it (not that he has many people to tell anyway) and he's not going to try and stop them either. Whatever they do to deal with stress is none of his business, so he's not going to intervene.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #jaxon crowley

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shiningdesignersreflections · 6 months

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Chapter 4: Black Tide Rising

Narrated by no one.

Narrator: Flo took one last longing gaze at the crumbling altar and murmured his final prayer to the ancient god.

Flo: Great Arionus, I will follow you to the ends of the world, 'til the forests die and the oceans dry up...

Narrator: With every word that fell from his lips, Flo's misty form dissipated bit by bit into specks of deep blue floating lights, like warm, passionate teardrops.

Narrator: The swaying sparks gathered around Mercury's hand, bleeding bit by bit into the azure gem.

Flo: Great Arionus, heed my prayers...

Narrator: Flo's last words faded away into the mist. The wisp that only remained for so long due to obsession finally accepted its demise.

Narrator: Elves, after all, were destined to come back to nature. Flo's dedication brought him prolonged pain, but he never stopped seeking his god even to the very end.

Narrator: What he never realized, though, was that the person who brought him the ray of hope was never a believer of the God of Water to begin with.

Narrator: Mercury's New Moon gem began to gleam, more brightly than ever before. A wild force surged in it as the ancient powers were finally ready to be awakened.

Mercury: The time has come to prepare.

Narrator: As the light dimmed, calm returned to the space. The last tear fell to the ground, trampled beneath uncaring feet on the way out.

Narrator: Mercury Group has always been highly efficient. Viper and his men fished the stele out of Lake Bovaly quickly, and Alan soon translated it.

Narrator: Hymns singing the praises of Arionus, the God of Water, were etched upon the stele, and contained many more clues toward awakening the god.

Narrator: The songs and poems of old are often nothing more than idle grasps at romance, but a sharp eye can divine the truth within them.

Narrator: The explorations of Lake Bovaly opened a viable path for Mercury, and the gates of the abyss shall likewise open for him with Arionus' awakening.

Narrator: Mercury heads to the open sea, to tell the Elves of Water that he has found where Arionus is sealed.

Narrator: Mercury vowed to the leader of the Water Elves to wake up Arionus, to break the blood oath between the Elves of Water and Light with the aid of the gods...

Narrator: ...and to lead them in a conquest to retake the continent.

Water Elf Leader: The friend of my people shall bring back our great ancestor, and reclaim our long-lost glory.

Narrator: The tribe, desperate for anything that would further their vengeance, has no reason to turn down his aid...

Narrator: ...and thus Mercury receives the scepter, passed down through the generations, from the leader.

Narrator: At the same time, Alan gives Ophelia the ancient Pigeon codex, which records Glory originates from flame.

Ophelia: The road ahead may be littered with thorns and traps, but I will forge ahead regardless and recover Pigeon's glory at the road's end.

Narrator: The puppet queen who will do anything to restore her kingdom's glory will not give up this opportunity...

Narrator: ...and will soon venture into the Mist Forest alone, in search of the altar of the Fire Elf.

Narrator: Everything is proceeding according to plan. All he has to do now is wait.

Narrator: The altar deep in the Mist Forest quickly lights up with blue and red flames.

Narrator: The Pigeon coast is beset by tidal waves as the Elves of Water await the return of their ancestor.

Narrator: The tides may be enough to rouse those slumbering nobles from their idle fancies, if only for a moment.

Narrator: Yet Pigeon's glory shall not be destroyed in this disaster.

Narrator: The Elves of Water are too proud, too strong. They've been broken down by too much despair, and are all too willing to place their trust in others.

Narrator: Sequestered away in the deep sea for centuries, they have precious little knowledge of the state of the world.

Narrator: The stronger their desire for revenge, the further they stray from their goals.

Narrator: Everything is prepared. Arionus, the God of Water, shall open the connection between Pigeon Forest and the Ocean of Memories.

Narrator: It lies there, in the heart of the forest, where the elven prince is already headed.

Narrator: As he's said from the beginning, this is all but an experiment to peer into the Abyss.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#mercury #shining nikki #chapter 4 #black tide rising #tides and flames #anniversary #lake bovaly #arionus #elf #god #water elf #power #abyss #promise #transcript #ssr designer

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trashedork · 1 year

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Reunion in a Dream

Characters: Ephemer, Ophelia (OC) Day 5 Prompt: "Forgive me..."

Note: Takes place one year after KHUX.

When Ephemer opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast white space. He blinked and inspected the area. Where was he? Last time he checked, he had gone to bed. Does that mean this was a dream? He never had this kind before. Memories of the past were usually what he relived in his sleep.

He turned around, detecting a figure in the distance. His eyes widened and immediately, his feet lugged him forwards. Her back was facing him, but he recognized that person anywhere. She still looked the same as he had last seen her.

Her long blonde hair, the gray dress and white flower pin that she wore... There was no mistaking it.

"Ophelia..." Ephemer croaked. He broke into a run, reaching a hand out to the girl. This might’ve been a dream, but he didn’t care. For a long time, he wished to see her. “Ophelia!”

Slowly, she faced him with a smile. "Ephemer."

As soon as Ephemer got closer to her, he pulled her into a tight hug. His eyes were drawn shut and his voice quivered as he spoke. "Ophelia... Ophelia, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Ophelia simply returned the embrace, her arms wrapping around his back.

“Please... Forgive me...” Ephemer sobbed onto her shoulder. “I miss you... I’ve always been thinking about you ever since that day. It’s my fault that you’re gone!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Ephemer.

“But...!”

“Ephemer.” Ophelia’s voice was quiet and sweet as she hushed him. She separated from the young man to look him in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. It never was. So, please don’t be mad at yourself. You did the right thing.”

“Ophelia...”

Tilting her head a bit, Ophelia giggled. “You’ll see me again when the time comes. Right now, you have people that need you. I’ll be waiting for you like I did back then, okay?” Suddenly, the bottom half of her body began to dissolve in a white light.

Ephemer curled his fingers around the fabric of Ophelia’s dress. “Wait! Don’t go! I want to stay with you for a little longer!”

Ophelia’s lips tugged into a sad smile. “You have to wake up now, Ephemer.”

“No! Stay... Please...”

The light emitting from Ophelia had rapidly spread up to her waist. "I love you."

A sharp gasp escaped Ephemer's mouth. Why? After all that he had done... How could she say that? Ephemer clung onto what was left of Ophelia, shoulders trembling as tears pooled in his eyes.

“We’ll see each other again.” was the last thing Ophelia said before the light enveloped her whole.

“Ophelia!!” Ephemer cried out, feebly grabbing air.

Soon, he woke up in a cold sweat. His chest rose and fell with every breath that he took. Light trickled into the bedroom, indicating the start of a new day. Ephemer carded his fingers through his wisps of silver hair. He recalled the dream, gritting his teeth and wrapping his arms around himself to contain his bottled-up emotions.

"Ophelia..."

#kingdom hearts oc #kh oc #keykid #oc x canon week #OC: Ophelia

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ghoulish-fiction · 1 year

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It's a bit late, but here's a little Christmas themed drabble featuring Mountain and my beloved OC, Brother Terran.

Fluff with a brief suggestive moment. Cut for length. Enjoy! 🖤🎄

NOTE: Ghoul children are called "kids" not kits. Ya know, like goats lol. And human children are children.

------

Mountain was cleaning up the kitchen after he and Terran's early supper when he received a text from his husband that read "Come to the front hall asap please. Need your help. Time sensitive."

It was odd for Terran to text while he is working, but this was obviously not an emergency so he doesn't panic, but Mountain does swiftly make his way to the front hall. When he arrives he finds Terran on his tiptoes on a ladder struggling to reach the top of the Christmas tree while being watched by a gaggle of children and kids.

Terran spots Mountain standing on the stairs, smiling warmly at him.

"Oh good you're here! Would you do the honors?"

The kids look hopefully up at Mountain. He takes the topper from Terran to see that it is a homemade Baphemet doll with a wire cone attached to its back. He examines it carefully and looks back to Terran and says, "No. I shouldn't."

The children and kids gasp. The littlest ghoul starts to tear up. Mountain turns to them all and asks, "Who made this?"

The little ones go wide eyed. One squeaks in fear. They think they've upset him.

"Wisp made it." Terran said.

The little ones eyes snap to Terran, the shock and feeling of betrayal obvious on their faces. It takes all of Terran's willpower not to laugh at the poor little ones.

"Which of you is Wisp?" Mountain asks.

Their eyes snap back to Mountain. Nobody moves. They know the rules. Snitches get stitches. But after a long moment a tall, thin fire ghoulette steps forward.

"Me, Mr. Mountain, sir."

Mountain kneels down to her and hands her the little Baphemet saying, "Beautiful work. You should have the honor. May I help you?"

Whisp's eyes light up and she nods up at Mountain. He steps around her and picks her up from under her arms to hold her up to the top of the messy, but charmingly, decorated tree. As she carefully places the topper her friends cheer.

When Mountain sets her down she hugs his leg and says, "Thank you, Mr. Mountain!"

Mountain gently pats her head. Terran nearly tears up, but he doesn't. Instead he steps forward and starts gathering empty ornament and light boxes.

"Okay everyone, put the boxes away, I will take your photo. Go on. Hey! River and Stream! You're not getting out of cleaning! Get back here!"

Mountain comes up behind Terran to wrap his arms around him.

"Oh! Thank you Mounty." Terran purrs.

"No problem. Glad you texted me."

"I think you made Whip's night."

"Good. She made mine."

"The rumors about you are true. You are just a gentle giant."

"Oh yeah? Who said that?"

"Clarice. The oldest child. She told them that Spark, the oldest ghoul, is lying. He says you're quiet because you don't want anyone to be close to you so they don't find out how many children you've eaten."

"Not children," Mountain whispers in Terran's ear, "Just... kitties." He starts to wrap his tail around Terran's thigh as best he can considering that Terran is wearing his robes.

"Don't tell Ophelia that." Terran laughs as he swats Mountain away and continues to add boxes to his stack.

"Will you take a photo with us?" Terran asks.

"Of course."

"Help put the boxes on the top shelf, too?"

Mountain laughs boldly.

"Yes my love."

"Thank you Mounty."

"Of course love."

The two men stare fondly at each other. Mountain leans down to kiss Terran. Their lips brush against each other when,

"EW! THEY'RE KISSING!"

Suddenly all eyes were on them, and then chaos broke out. Boxes flew as the shouting grew louder.

"GROSS!" "EW!" "Not ew! My mommies do that too!" "Brother Terran, he's gonna eat you!" "No he's not! They're married!" "Ew they're married? I'm never getting married." "Terran isn't big enough to be married!" "Mountain is TOO big to be married!" "Icky!" "I'd kiss him..." "OOOHHH!!" "YOU'D WHAT?!" "Nobody would kiss you!" "HEY!"

Terran's face goes cold and Mountain bites back a laugh.

"Okay, okay!" Terran shouts over the commotion the little ones were making, "That's enough! Go clean up! Where did River and Stream go? I'm gonna leash those twins..."

"Maybe I should go." Mountain says softly.

"No, no. I need you now. Help them carry the boxes while I find the twins and meet me back here?"

"Okay. See you soon?"

"I sure hope so. I swear if they are in the fountain again I'm-"

"They are!" One child interrupts.

"Satan help me." Terran said before he ran out the heavy front doors.

Mountain looked down at the many little faces staring up at him.

"Wanna prank Brother Terran?" He asks.

The children and kids shout their approval, but Mountain is quick to shush them and whisk them away. Mountain may have an angry husband on his hands later, but what's Christmas without a little harmless mischief?

#ghoulish writing #ghoulish drabble #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #mountain #mountain ghoul #oc: brother terran #writing isnt great its just a little idea i wanted to jot down

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mushlandsandbeyond · 2 years

Note

can you give me a general overview of the characters?

ok so this is gonna be a bit big so i'll try to section them off by region (where they currently live rn)! and also keep in mind that some characters here are in development, not all of them will be mentioned, all of this is subject to change so yadda yadda-

here we go! (and sorry for such a long ask !!!! 😭😭😭i am just glad i can properly introduce most of them finally)

🍄The Mushlands

Leopold Drummond - Archaeologist, author, researcher! He's responsible for creating the in-universe Mushlands guide series. He hails from a far away town called Rooteletor. Currently staying in Meadowview

Ethel Schwabacher - A wizard from Frosta Pinto who is living in Meadowview. An editor and good friend of Leopold

Voras - Shapeshifting spider, local carpenter living in Meadowview :) a chill guy

Kazashi Chaki - A witch who can trans ur gender and moved in from far away :) owns a cafe with animated dolls (and may or may not be a doll herself). catgirl :3

Dorian - A human who's also partially an Enderman from a curse! Not originally born in the Mushlands, and traveled with his sister and what remains of their village to seek refuge. Is a beekeeper for the Bee Kingdom! (also this is mod dorian's minecraftsona!!!)

Bubble - Dorian's little sister, founded the Mushroom Village right outside of the bee kingdom! (mod dorian's sister's character!)

Prisma Greensmith - One of the many crewmates for the Birates (Bi Pirates)! Originally from Nuvola Rosa, but left a long time ago. Adept engineer and lightning manipulator, and is also a wizard.

SeaLanternz - Captain of the Birates, assembled a crew not long before departing their homeland, Astoria. Just a frunky glow squid guy :) (mod sealan's minecraftsona/oc!)

Emerl - The current identity of the sculk originating from the city under Deepmine. As the mayor of Deepmine, she holds great power over the settlement, and her mind-controlling spores help ensure she stays that way. However, she is relatively young for an immortal creature, and with that comes a misplaced sense of invulnerability.

Cinnabar Draconis - A doctor working in Deepmine’s only hospital, and someone immune to sculk’s effects. She’s aware something is wrong with the town, and is trying to find a way to fix it without arousing suspicion.

Raven Piedra - Blaze lady from the Nether, was an outcast before making friends with Ophelia in Floralbourne!

Ophelia Blumenthal - A potionmaker from Floralbourne and beekeeper for the Bee Kingdom!

Zephyr Marcello - Current head/templekeeper for Ametista Curativa, an amethyst temple in Mystic Mauve. He is a medium (in this case, one who gains power from an other source) and can heal and protect others.

Marisa Jansson - Current Mayor of Mystic Mauve. One of many immigrants from Old Maelstrom after the sea rising event, and direct daughter of Samael Jansson, the last mayor for Old Maelstrom.

Neifion Van Der Zee - A man living on the shores of New Maelstrom. He was taken away to help provide weapons for a war and was shocked when he came back home to Old Maelstrom now underwater.

💭Damgo Archipelago

Selenea Somnolento, Electra Burdain, Fajra Justinia, Lorelei Liliales - The first four high wizards of the Damgo Archipelago, Selenea was also the founder and first head wizard. In order they established Nuvola Rosa, Turtle Haven, Frosta Pinto, and Mossten. All of them are gone and have ascended to become gods or god-like, protecting over their respective islands.

Antony Wisp - Current Head Wizard of the archipelago and High Wizard of Nuvola Rosa.

Maverick Burdain - Current high wizard of Turtle Haven! He likes to host parties and is a turtle whisperer. Antony assigns him as the acting Head Wizard whenever he's absent.

Elisabeth Sommer - Current high wizard of Frosta Pinto. Literature fanatic and feline enjoyer, becomes acting Head Wizard if Antony and Maverick are absent.

Roe Egglovett - Current high wizard of Mossten. gra 🐸! Does a bit of mischief when she feels like it. Becomes acting Head Wizard if all others are absent.

Polaris Tang - Apprentice under Antony, set to be the next High Wizard of Nuvola Rosa once she completes her training. Found under mysterious circumstances, adopted by Antony.

Arthuria - A humanoid phantom living in Nuvola Rosa. She brews levitation potions. As a phantom, she still feeds off of insomnia, but since she lives in a big city she doesn’t have to harass anyone for it like a wild phantom.

Vega Somnolento - Great granddaughter of Selenea, she is the current priestess of the moon church on Nuvola Rosa. Somewhat enigmatic but doesn't take things too seriously.

🗻Astoria

Lady Irene - A legend in Astoria's history who protected the country during times of war. She was the first paladin and established order and peace throughout the country. She ascended as a goddess of peace and strategy.

Laurance Zvahl - A paladin for the knights. Has been searching SeaLanternz for an unknown amount of time. (???)

Cadenza Zvahl - Laurance's adoptive sister, a renowned seamstress. Her top clients are the knights.

Garroth Ro'meave - A scout for the knights. As a child he was cursed to become a werewolf by Zane, however this has proven to be a great asset for his duties later down the line.

Zane Ro'meave - Former high priest, and Garroth's younger brother. He has been sent to prison for conspiring against the royal family.

Zenith - A ranger for the knights. Goat guy, best friends with Garroth.

Lucinda Avenue - A witch who lives by the outskirts of Astoria with her owl familiar.

🌵Echino Mesa

Samson - The current identity of the sculk which resides within Echino Mesa’s borders. A powerful and enigmatic figure, not much is known about him. He mentors Maristela, and while he is generally laid back, he has an aura of menace around him. It would be wise to stay on his good side.

Marisa Caelum - Former bandit turned bounty hunter. Wizard gunslinger who uses gun-shaped twigs to fire magical bullets and can transmute sand into explosive glitter.

Maristela Aphros - One of the last few descendants of the decimated Aphros clan of wizards. Being mentored by the very same creature who almost wiped out his line.

Maysie Meadows - Wandering trader. She doesn't really live in Echino Mesa but was born there :)

Leticia Addams - Takes care of her family business (carpentry) and also runs The Drippy Spoon, a saloon located in Thornton.

Lottie Carpenter - Assassin for hire and certified wifegirl, may or may not have split from her family in the past.

Coleman Burdain - Younger brother of Electra Burdain and the grandfather of Monstrology (no relation to wizard101. sorry again). Established himself in Echino Mesa and set the basis for studying the undead, the otherworldly, and the unknown. He's dead

#letters #cloudyishdays #lore #world residents #mod dorian #mod huskies #the mushlands + beyond

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outofthiisworld · 4 months

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@pzfr is NO snitch!!!

[💜]— Ophelia hummed a small thank you as he reached for a towel (the foam started to get in her mouth and it tasted gross).

“Oooh, yes. His silly little doohickeys. Such a darn shame,” she did not giggle. Instead, a deep chuckle rumbled from the depths of her ectoplasmic core.

“Reeeeeeex~?”

Ophelia wiped up a dollop of foam from her face and leaned closer to the cosmic contender (who was NOT a snitch, good on him). The air chilled as wisps of ectoplasm seeped from her smile.

“You wouldn’t lie to me. Would you, Rex?”

The dollop of foam was booped onto his nose. She watched him like a hawk. Unblinking and motionless. A stray blob of foam plopped onto the ground.

#💜… ic #pzfr #ophelia … rex #//DONT CAVE REX ITS WHAT SHE DESERVES !!!!#//Doc already in Antarctica by now: I OWE YOU ONE. DINNER ON ME WHEN I COME BACK.

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legendarysaniyah · 1 year

Text

The Forgotten Tower [CHAPTER 19]

ᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ

TW: Gore, Violence

She had decided to conclude to go straight through the middle, as she had already gone both ways, left and right, throughout her journey, and it seemed more distinct to follow a pathway directly in the centre.

——

It seemed so peculiar to walk through a row of mirrors, as Ophelia cringed in disgust whenever her eyes met her reflection’s. ‘Where was Helene? And why hasn’t she found me yet?’ Ophelia wondered, slightly suspicious that Helene could be betraying her. Ophelia felt awkward as she heard the unsettling sound of her own footsteps echoing, and nothing else other than her quiet breathing, to which she was trembling in fear.

“Helene?” Ophelia called out helplessly, as she became eventually frustrated, impatiently walking around and continuing her journey as she leaned onto the mirrors, absolutely exhausted. In response, however, was just the sound of unsettling silence. ‘I was brought back from the dead only to be lost in this… peculiar labyrinth of mirrors.’ Ophelia gestured her hands around her, almost as if she was explaining her complaints to someone.

Ophelia continued to walk, sometimes frantically glancing at the mirrors; being extremely cautious to see if there was something other than her reflection glaring at her. “Nothing can kill me now! Helene is on MY side!” Ophelia spoke to herself, extremely confident and proud, pretending to swing her already blood-stained sword around recklessly, almost ruining the rows of organised mirrors.

Ophelia observed the scenery around her in awe. It looked so modern, and so peaceful. It was as if the mirrors were emitting an indigo hue, some sort of luminous glow around each individual border of the mirror. The narrow floor space was checkered, like a chessboard. It wasn’t a dim area, in fact brighter than the castle that she used to be in. Ophelia sighed to herself, ‘I dearly miss my parents.’ She thought.

Ophelia stopped at a dead end. “Great.” Ophelia hissed in anger, her fists clenched as she threw her sword to the ground with a clatter in frustration. She glared at her reflection in the final mirror blocking her path. ‘I look so different…’ Ophelia thought to herself. Ophelia’s silky, violet gown was torn and bruised by the terrors and tragedies of the tower, whilst her puffy white sleeves were torn and stained with blood from the sharp cut of the fallen stars.

And it was then when all of a sudden the indigo hues of light seeping through the borders of the mirrors became more stronger, growing in brightness and a significant amount of power. Until it suddenly extinguished itself like a flame, wisps of smoke emitting from the borders of the mirror, the room dimmed immediately. Ophelia stared in bewilderment, her fingertips constantly prodding the gaps in between the borders, assuming that there would be a feeling of heat, but instead the smoke felt as cold as ice.

“I can’t do this anymore.” A single voice sobbed.

Ophelia froze in bewilderment. “Is there someone there?? Where are you?” Ophelia had asked, frantically looking around for the source of the sound. “My daughter Ophelia must be dead.” The voice replied, still sobbing hysterically, ignoring Ophelia’s words. It didn’t take Ophelia a long time to realise who was speaking. “Mother?? Where are you?!” Ophelia cried, her hands pounding onto the mirrors, trying to break them, as if the sound was coming from behind them.

Ophelia still glanced around frantically, before looking at the mirror in front of her. The dead end. And as she looked at the mirror, she realised that the reflection was no longer her own. It was Ophelia’s mother, or had it looked very similar to her own mother, calling out to Ophelia. Except that she seemed very, very off.

Ophelia’s mother remained perfectly still, her wounded hands eventually moving in the slightest as Ophelia’s mother turned around, constantly calling for Ophelia. Her mother’s rose pink and cream laced gown remained mostly in the same condition, other than the noticeable large tear through her torso, blood stained heavily over it, and the majority of blood pouring out of her slightly rotting flesh, the crimson red liquid still remaining to spill out. Bluebottles and greenflies were hovering around her mother, swarming her like a furious swarm of hornets.

The most noticeable thing, however, was how her neck was dented with what looked like rope marks, some areas of her flesh darkened and stained with cuts from her collarbone and above. And not to mention how almost all of her mother’s face was hastily and violently torn off, or even eaten off, making a large dent in her face. There was less blood that spilled from her lower jaw. It horrified Ophelia every time as she saw her mother’s eaten off jaw move in the slightest way whenever her mother called for Ophelia, her mother’s torn and damaged facial muscles occasionally twitching in the slightest.

“What happened?!” Ophelia yelled, furiously, she felt on the verge of tears as she tried to outstretch her hand to the mirror, where her mother’s reflection was. “Why?!” She cried in agony, before the reflection faded, matching her own again. Her legs sunk two the ground, almost immediately as she cried, her sword laid limp beside Ophelia on the ground, already forgotten as all she cared about was her parents.

“Whether Ophelia is here or not, this will all go according to plan.” Another voice stated, with no expression in their tone.

As Ophelia frantically wiped her eyes, her face stained with tears, she looked to see another reflection. But she couldn’t recognise them in any way at all. Could this be a creature she may had passed in the tower? The reflection was tall, very pale and unnaturally skinny with long, sharp fingernails, as the mysterious figure wore a torn and faded blue waistcoat, embroidered with golden pins and badges on the shoulders, as well as a black and gold belt, tightened in the most extreme way, which still hung slightly loose around its side, supported by its withered, faded dark trousers. It seemed almost too familiar to Ophelia, until she glanced up at the figure and saw a tilted, gold crown.

The reflection suddenly became more clear, resembling Ophelia’s father, the King of Utopia, who had sunken eyes, and blood stained all over his face, the two daggers gripped loosely in the clutches of both of his long arms hung lazily by his side. The King of Utopia seemed very different, but Ophelia tried to observe his expression, struggling to interlock eyes with a figure that seemed too familiar to her father. She glared at him, still trying to mask her shock but her father’s eyes never glanced back.

The mirror suddenly went misty and dark again before displaying Ophelia’s reflection. She went silent for a few seconds, tears beginning to trickle down her face. Weakly, Ophelia placed her palm onto the mirror, desperately trying to reopen her eyes to meet another’s face that wasn’t her own. “Come back, I need to see once more.” She mumbled, sniffling as she wiped her eyes elegantly with her torn sleeve. And there was nothing new as she opened her eyes.

Her palm lay weakened against the mirror, Ophelia glaring at her own reflection with tears brimming in her eyes. Her gaze landed on her palm, which seemed slightly peculiar to her. ‘Why does it seem like the reflection of my palm is so close to the mirror?’ She wondered, slightly distracted by her own thoughts. ‘What if it was a one way mirror?’ She pondered, placing her fingertips on the mirror, observing them carefully and closely from multiple angles. Her fingertips seemed oddly too close to the mirror, leaving no gap. “And so it was.” Ophelia muttered, astonished.

She bent down exhausted and gripped onto her sword on the tiles, both hands gripped tightly on the handle as she lifted it in the air, exhaled slowly once more and struck her blade towards the mirror.

CRASH!

Ophelia leapt backwards in shock, quickly covering her face with both of her arms to avoid the shards of mirrors that flew rapidly, scattering onto the floor. The indigo hue that emitted from the borders of the mirrors reappeared and flickered violently, making it slightly more difficult and confusing when Ophelia continuously swung her sword at the mirror, hoping for a new result. There was a visible crack in the mirror, some pieces revealing an open way to walk through. But it wasn’t enough. Again, and again, Ophelia struck the sharp and heavy sword through the centre of the mirror, a result of damage to the mirror every single time, and she didn’t stop until there was barely of the mirror still clinging onto the borders.

Ophelia then placed her sword beside her, inserting it in the decorated, yet worn sheath. Ophelia walked through the now open entrance, being cautious of some of the shards that still remained in place. Surprisingly, it looked very, very different from anything else she had seen in the tower. The area seemed deserted, just like the previous room, however, when Ophelia turned back to glance at the modern style mirror maze she had just wandered through, she now looked at the new room she was in, which seemed more unclear, something which looked familiar, but only by a bit.

The new room had dark, teal coloured walls and flooring consisting of ancient and possibly precious stone. It smelled of something peculiar, yet familiar, very similar to the faint salt water mist near the coast of Utopia. The room seemed a lot bigger than the previous one, but she could be wrong, as Ophelia hadn’t looked through the whole maze, somehow being lucky enough to follow the correct path. There were various torches hung around the room, shining a light turquoise, almost white coloured flame. There were dull, teal pillars placed evenly around the room, filling every gap in every corner. However, there was a very noticeable rectangular gap, which looked very deep, so she decided she was going to avoid that. Ophelia did notice a set of stairs leading downwards, built into the large gap. And since there was only one way,

It looked almost eerie seeing a huge rectangular hole in the middle, but it became clear as soon as Ophelia felt a bath of water below her. She nervously grabbed onto the rails of the stairwell, holding it tightly. Ophelia looked down into the pool of the crystal clear water, observing what was beneath the surface. She blinked twice, extremely confused as she peered through, crouching onto her knees to get a closer look as she tried to observe it further. Ophelia sighed in frustration, trying to pick up her long, elegant gown to more it further away from her. As she was doing that, she suddenly felt a strong force grip onto her, and plunge her into the water.

She felt herself being pulled further and further down, as Ophelia tried to grab onto something so she could haul herself out of the water, frantically moving her arms, yet the weight of the water preventing her from doing so. Until it suddenly stopped, the fading noise of something else moving away through the water. Ophelia struggled to swim back to the surface, just barely making it as her head rose from the water, gasping for air. Before deciding to do anything just yet, Ophelia quickly placed her weapons and food which was drenched in water away from the pool, before deciding to dive in to discover what, or who pulled her into the water.

As Ophelia looked down into the water, Ophelia looked around observing every single sight in astonishment. The pool itself seemed as if it was beyond 30 metres deep. There were a few sunken pieces of polished teal quartz beneath the surface, as well as pieces of seaweed and coral reef emerging from the cracks of the stone. One thing that Ophelia found very peculiar is that there was a house submerged in the water, completely the same colour and made out of the ancient stone, yet empty looking as Ophelia swam further beneath the swimming pool.

Ophelia felt the same force pulling her down yet again, which felt stronger than gravity pulling her down as Ophelia flailed her arms, trying to swim upwards again, before turning her head to see a slightly humanoid female figure, with odd mutations such as a tail, and gills naturally formed on both sides of the figure’s throat. It all seemed to familiar before Ophelia realised exactly what it was. A mermaid. But this mermaid was very, very hostile, and looked completely hideous. Ophelia had despised of mermaids, believing that they were related to pure evil.

Ophelia’s words being incoherent towards the mermaid as she realised she was underwater, and in fact sinking as the mermaid’s strong grip on her gown submerged her beneath the surface. Ophelia tried to kick the mermaid, before realising it was no use. Ophelia began to frantically turn and use her arms to throw a punch the mermaid, however it didn’t do much use either, and the water was heavily draining her strength and energy. Ophelia did manage to grasp onto one of the stone hooks hanging onto the side before using that to pull upwards as the strong force suddenly subsided. Ophelia managing to pull herself back onto the surface.

Ophelia’s strong grudge towards the mermaid did frustrate her, and she wanted to put an end to it. She quickly grabbed the sheath of the sword, patiently waiting before feeling the powerful grip on the ends of her violet coloured gown. This time, Ophelia felt prepared. The mermaid with its pale skin and ginger braided hair tugged onto Ophelia’s gown, this time not stopping, however, the mermaid was not prepared the moment she saw Ophelia’s hands gripping onto the long engraved and worn metallic sheath before Ophelia swung it at the mermaid’s head, with all her strength. The mermaid drifted backwards after being struck, trying to retreat below to the lower depths of the pool before Ophelia struck the mermaid directly in the skull again, and again.

The mermaid finally let go and Ophelia swam up to the top, trying to grab onto the railings as she pulled herself back to the surface, noticing there was a strong white glow emitting from a reopened entrance emerged from the stone walls. She quickly grabbed onto the sword, which she put back into her sheath, as well as the bag of food which she carried by her side. Ophelia shivered from the cold water she was plunged into, so she swiftly walked towards the door before turning back one time to look at the scenery, noticing that there was now a body that had floated to the surface in the pool. Ophelia turned forward, ignoring it, yet glad that she acknowledged why she was in the tower, and she knew what really happened to her parents.

#short story #dark academia #creative writing #royalty #chapter 19

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porcelana-r0ta · 2 years

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Fandom: The Owl House

Title: Idol of an Infidel

Chapters: 1/?

Relationships: Hunter | The Golden Guard & The Collector

Summary:

After his uncle skips their Sunday dinner, Hunter hears crying from his uncle's study. There, he finds The Collector.

Together, they find a family.

Ao3 link:

Fic:

It would be wrong to call The Collector an open secret because only a few in the Emperor's Coven know of them. Those witches are of high standing and close contact with the Emperor, usually Coven Heads or the odd personal guard. (Naturally, this rule includes Hunter himself, given that he is the Golden Guard and is more important than any other Coven member.) Thus, Hunter can count on one hand the number of other people who know of The Collector.

Kikimora: she’s always in the Emperor's business beyond her station as an assistant, and Hunter’s heard more than enough rumors to suspect why she’s following him around like magic to a bile sac.

Head Witch Terra Snapdragon: the woman’s a terror and it shouldn’t surprise anyone that she would be privy to such a guarded secret. The Emperor keeps her close, if only so he knows just what is going on in her twisted mind.

Head Witch Vitimir: he has a certain sliminess that the Emperor can appreciate, and fierce loyalty that Hunter admires. The man would do anything for Emperor Belos.

Captain of the Guard, Ophelia Fortunato: a woman of equally studious and robust nature, she’s quick to notice shadowy wisps that may threaten the Emperor's safety, so of course, she knows. She’d be a failure and unworthy of her position as Captain if she didn’t know.

Not even Head Witch Lilith Clawthorne knew about them.

Taboo might be a safer term to describe The Collector’s presence because while contact with The Collector is not outright forbidden or profane (how could it be, when the Emperor himself is in contact with them?), others should not raise themselves to be of the equal station to the Emperor. Emperor Belos is the Titan’s Anointed One, and only he can speak or acknowledge someone like The Collector.

Other witches, witches like Hunter who are prone to failure and disappointment, do not have that blessing. They are not worthy.

So Hunter and the others in the know speak nothing of The Collector, who remains a silent ghost in the Palace unless in the Throne Room or the Emperor's chambers. (Hunter’s seen and heard them in both places, even if The Collector hides their presence whenever someone who isn’t Emperor Belos is present.)

It’s simply been like that for years now, from the very first time Hunter saw The Collector at age eight.

“Uncle, who… who is that?”

“It’s not your place to ask questions, Hunter. The Collector is not your concern. Do not ask again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

So Hunter never asked again and never acknowledged The Collector.

…Well, until now, that is.

Since he was little, Hunter and his uncle have had dinner in his uncle’s chambers every Sunday. That tradition has fallen out of practice in the past few weeks since Hunter was knighted as the Golden Guard, but his uncle assured him that today he was going to show up.

So here Hunter is, sitting at one end of Uncle’s dining table, waiting patiently. For an hour now.

He’ll show up, he thinks to himself. He promised.

But then an hour grows into an hour and a half, and then two hours. And even Hunter, so full of determination, has to give up at some point.

He’s a busy man. His work is important. Eda the Owl Lady started a riot in downtown Bonesborough just yesterday, so of course he’s busy.

He skids back from the table in his chair, the food before him uneaten and cold. He’d get a maid to come in and clear the table before returning to his own quarters.

He doesn’t have to try to hold back tears anymore — he’s twelve now and used to this. He knows that the Emperor can’t be everywhere. Still—

He pushes the chair back under the table and stares at the pixie stew, his uncle’s favorite that Hunter had specifically told the cook to make for their dinner.

Stupid.

He turns sharply out of the dining room, already planning to just grab some bread from the kitchen at most since his appetite is ruined, but he pauses in the hall.

His uncle’s chambers are always silent, but he’s certain that he hears… sniffling?.... coming from his uncle’s study down the hall.

For a moment, he’s stricken — who could be crying in the Emperor's private chambers? No one has the authority to be here except himself and—

The Collector.

His first instinct is to ignore them. It’s not his place to concern himself with The Collector.

He takes a step forward and winces when a sniffle becomes a sob.

Ah, fuck.

He walks to his uncle’s study — a place that he’s not supposed to be in alone — to speak with The Collector — a Celestial he’s not even supposed to acknowledge.

He opens the door and quietly steps into a medium-sized room lined with ancient tomes, a chair and desk busy with paperwork in the middle. And there in the corner, next to a pile of books on the floor, is a reflective tablet, and the shadowy figure of The Collector curled up in a two-dimensional ball.

Their shoulders are shaking and they look so small, and the image squeezes Hunter’s heart.

He clears his throat and The Collector starts, their head shooting up and their hands wiping at the shadow tears on their face.

“You’re not supposed to be in here by yourself,” they sneer, but the intimidation is lost considering the circumstances. “You’re not supposed to talk to me, either.”

“I know,” is all Hunter can manage. “But you were crying. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Hey,” he says, and then crosses the room to crouch by The Collector, who is now avoiding eye contact. He’s not really sure what is compelling him to do this, something that would get him into deep trouble should the Emperor walk in, but he knows that he has to comfort The Collector, who really just sounds like a lost child. “I’m sure it’s not stupid. Don’t say that. Now, what’s wrong?”

The Collector’s lip trembles.

“I never get to do anything. Stupid Belos never lets me.”

It’s not his place to correct a Celestial, a being of importance on par with the Titan even if not equally so, so instead of rebuking them for their insult to the Emperor, he asks, “What doesn’t he let you do?”

The Collector shrugs, “Play games. Help me out from my tablet.”

Hunter has a feeling there’s more to it than that, but he doesn’t call The Collector out on it.

He says, “Okay, well, what kind of games do you want to play?” If the Emperor won’t let them out of the tablet, maybe there’s a good reason for it.

They cast Hunter a suspicious look, “Hide and seek. Tag. The usual. I can’t play much since I can’t interact with the real world.” Then, to prove their statement, their arm grows in size and swipes around the room before shrinking down to match The Collector’s current size, and everything the phantom limb brushed was unmoved.

“Oh. Well, I’ll play with you.” He doesn’t have anything to do since his uncle didn’t show up for dinner and assign him any duties.

The Collector brightens, then flickers.

“You will?” they ask, like they thought Hunter was lying and just wanted to see them raise their hopes only to drop them back down and shatter.

He nods, “Yeah. We can start with hide and seek.”

“Okay!” The Collector grins. “Grab my tablet and take me into the center of Belos’s chambers so I can reach more places.”

Hunter dutifully picks up the tablet, cool to the touch, and studies the crescent moon engraved on it.

“Do you want to hide or seek first?”

“Hide! Hide!”

So Hunter takes the tablet to Belos’s sitting room and rests it on a table, then he tucks himself away against a corner and starts counting to fifteen.

“....twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fourteen and a quarter.” He lets some mischief slip into his tone, teasing the time limit. “Fourteen and a half… fourteen and three quarters…. Fifteen! Ready or not, here I come!”

He turns around and hears giddy giggles, though they echo throughout the room so he can’t discern where The Collector’s hidden. Everything in the sitting room is in place, but he makes a show of looking in every nook and cranny, even if he doubts that The Collector could fit their incorporeal form there.

“Are you… under the cushions?” He flips the black cushions off the sofa, carefully looking at the interior structure of the couch.

He hears the echoing giggles again, “No, silly! How would I get there?”

He sighs, “You’re so right, I really am silly.” He fixes the cushions and turns his gaze to the maroon curtains against the wall.

“Hmmmm.” He sounds theatrically considering, playing up his confusion. “What about… the curtains?!” And he darts to the wall, moving the thick curtains aside and revealing nothing but stone and opulent stained glass depicting his uncle fighting wild witches.

He gives a suffering sigh, “Drat! Wrong again!” Cue another round of giggles that bring a smile to Hunter’s face.

“C’mon, try harder than that! Curtains are soooo obvious.”

“Soooo obvious,” he mimics, turning his gaze back to the couch. “So obvious that I might not think of it, huh?” He crosses the floor back over to the couch and ducks down to the floor, laying flat to peek under the couch. At the sight of happy, squinting eyes, Hunter crows, “Found you! You gotta come out now.”

The Collector cackles and whips out from their place beneath the couch, much faster than Hunter pulling himself from the stone floor.

“Hahaha! Close, so close!” They wave their hands triumphantly in the air, smug, “There’s two more copies of me to find!”

Hunter’s surprised, “There are?” He didn’t know that The Collector could duplicate themselves, but maybe he shouldn’t be — Celestial being, after all.

They nod, “Yes! And you gotta find them! I’ll help, I’ll help!”

Hunter questions the merits of helping someone find copies of themself, but he doesn’t voice those doubts. He mostly just feels a confused amusement.

“Okay, let’s start looking, then.”

Hunter and The Collector 1 (as in the first copy found) check a few more places in the sitting room, Hunter keeping up his theatrics, and The Collector laughing at everything he says. The Collector 1 isn’t much help, but they make a show of “searching” for the other two copies by morphing one of their hands into a silhouette of a detective’s magnifying glass and narrowing their eyes at everything.

Together they find The Collector 2 (who joins in the investigation with a detective’s hat on their head) in the bathroom behind cloudy shower glass. They seek in a few more rooms before having to take the search to the kitchen, where dinner remained untouched.

“You didn’t eat,” the first copy notes, and Hunter freezes in searching behind a potted plant with large pink leaves.

“Oh, no,” he says nonchalantly. “Uncle and I were supposed to have dinner together today, but….”

“You could have eaten without him,” says The Collector 2.

His hands are shaky so he smooths them over his legs before standing.

“No, he—” doesn’t like when I eat something that isn’t the Coven rations unless it’s with him is on the tip of his tongue when a tall figure entering the doorway catches his eye, and Hunter straightens to meet his uncle’s severe gaze.

“Uncle! I was waiting for you—”

Emperor Belos raises a hand and Hunter falls silent, and across the room, The Collector 1 and 2 merge into one being. If the third joins them, Hunter doesn’t see it, and he lowers his gaze to the floor.

“What,” imperiously hisses his uncle, “are you doing with The Collector? We’ve talked about this. I trusted that you understood.”

He flinches, “I know, I’m sorry. I was….” He flicks a look to The Collector, who was watching blankly. “I wanted to play with someone.”

I, not The Collector.

Hunter isn’t even really sure why he’s lying about it. He just doesn’t want The Collector to get in trouble.

His uncle is silent for a moment, then he sighs angrily, “You’re twelve now, Hunter, and the Golden Guard. You have responsibilities. You are too old for playing.” The word rolls off his tongue with vitriol. “Never mind that you deliberately disobeyed me, and the will of the TItan, at that.”

“I know, but—” And Hunter’s words are silenced by a curse limb slamming him into the wall behind him, a strangled cry falling out instead, and he sinks to the ground as spots blot his vision.

“Do not—” his uncle snarls, his arms rearing back for another strike when darkness overtakes his vision completely. Hunter blinks, thinking that the hit knocked his vision right out of his head, but when he looks up, he sees that it is The Collector, now gigantic in front of him.

Blocking him from his uncle. Shielding him.

There’s silence again, and then the Emperor says dangerously, “What do you think you’re doing, Collector?”

“I like Hunter,” The Collector says. “He’s my favorite.”

There’s a silent standoff, one that Hunter cannot see through The Collector, but finally, his uncle sighs and The Collector shrinks to their childlike size.

“Stand, Hunter, and retire to your tower for the night. The Collector and I have things to discuss.”

Hunter does as told and rises, “Yes, Emperor Belos.” He’s a little wobbly as he walks forward, but a hand, pale and uncursed, stops him by resting on his shoulder as he goes to pass his uncle.

Without having to be asked, Hunter looks up to meet his uncle’s apologetic gaze.

“Hunter,” he says gently, “We are in my private chambers.”

He nods at the reminder, a soft smile grazing his lips.

“Yes, Uncle,” he corrects himself, and his uncle’s hand moves to pat his head.

“Good boy. Now, return to your tower. We’ll discuss more about this incident tomorrow.”

“Good night, Uncle,” he says and leaves, making sure to put the mask on beforehand.

He catches a maid on his way to his tower and tells her to clean his uncle’s dining room, and he forgoes his detour to the kitchens altogether, even if he’s hungry after playing with The Collector.

Once in his room, he sheds his Golden Guard uniform in favor of blue pajamas, and he curls around his only plushie, a pink stuffed frog he named Sprig. He runs his ungloved hands over Sprig’s soft plush fabric, and he hopes that he’ll get to play with The Collector again.

xxXxx

“What,” demands Belos as soon as Hunter leaves his chambers, “was that?”

The Collector shrugs carelessly, even though they’re still angry at seeing Hunter be thrown into the wall.

“I told you already, I like Hunter. He plays with me, and you’re a boring loser who doesn’t play games. He’s my favorite grimwalker.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Belos says. His face becomes veiny and green from the curse. “As you said, he’s a grimwalker. He’s not made to last. And you’re not supposed to talk to anyone.”

“That’s boring.” They sniff. “I do what I want, and I want to keep playing with Hunter. You’re not allowed to just throw this one away anymore.”

Belos laughs, bitter and upset at not being obeyed. Well, The Collector isn’t one of his dumb subjects, so they don’t have to obey or do anything that Belos wants them to.

“And what do you suggest I do when he inevitably betrays me?”

They shrug again.

“The Day of Unity is close, isn’t it? A few more years now. Just keep Hunter happy until then and he won’t betray you, you big baby.”

“It’s in his nature.”

They scoff, “Maybe you’re the problem. You’ve made hundreds of them by now. How is the fault with them and not you?”

“I’m completing the Titan’s will. There’s something inherently disobedient and sinful in Caleb. I can’t help that it shows in every grimwalker.”

“Well, you better start,” The Collector says, “because I won’t help you with the Draining Spell if you get rid of Hunter. So there!” They stick their tongue out at Belos and cross their arms.

Belos lets out a sound of aggravation, his skin rippling and rupturing into green goo, and an arm shoots out into the table, upturning it and spilling the food, shattering the glass and ceramic, and breaking the table.

The Collector doesn’t even flinch.

Belos takes in a few deep breaths, hunched over on himself, and then he straightens and returns to his humanoid appearance.

“Do not,” he hisses, “breathe a word of grimwalkers or the Draining Spell to Hunter. That’s the only way I’ll let this farce continue. And keep him loyal with your friendship.”

“Sure,” The Collector says haughtily because it’s better if Belos believes that he can control them with stipulations, even if he really can’t. “You got a deal. I’m very likable, so it won’t be hard.”

The Why is it hard for you? is silent, but very much implied. Based on Belos’s resounding growl, he hears it, too.

Belos storms away and The Collector grins and claps their hands together.

They’ll have so much fun with Hunter.

#the owl house #hunter and the collector sibling relationship au #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #hunter wittebane #hunter toh #the collector toh #philip wittebane #emperor belos #found family #tw child abuse

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